Expatriate

So now I remember what college is really like. Detailed research, long hours spent in the bowels of Preus Library, standardized tests, normal tests, papers to write, stacks of books, band, jazz, lessons, social obligations, etc, etc, etc. Oh yeah, and class. Nothing against the highly esteemed University of Nottingham (The Times 2006 higher learning institution of the year), but given my academic obligations there, Luther is coming out a bit more intense. The one two punch of the LSAT and the senior paper are definitely taking me to task. Or at least, a feeling that I should be on task. I don't even know. I do know that I have 12 books checked out from the library. That's probably more than I checked out during the duration of 2006-07.

I love the word expatriate. Just say it a few times. It's a cool word. And look at how it's spelled. Instead of "ex-patriot", it's "expatriate." I can respect that.

Last year, I used to refer to myself as an expatriate, an American living abroad in England. Increasingly, as I navigate post-Nottingham America, I find myself using the term to describe myself currently as well. I miss England, in ways that I don't think I fully realize. Which is sort of strange, because I find my life back in America well. I love my friends and family (I could do without the nagging), I like being academically challenged, I'm excited to go to law school, it's nice to be back at Luther. But as I've verbalized over countless mugs of coffee, something still continues to be missing. I left something in the US when I left for England, which ended up disappearing. And I left something in England that I can't get back, because it permanently resides in the East Midlands. I think it boils down to the fact that I can't reconcile that Aaron (see photo) with the one that is currently sitting in Farwell 609, navigating around stacks of antifederalist literature.



The Aaron seen above had a dynamic life. And I mean, I have a pretty dynamic life now too. But as the photo might indicate, there's something different. There's something distinctive. And I don't know if this photo accurately portrays this, but I love England. Like, I really love it, genuinely adore its culture, ardently want to seek out new experiences there. This is a strange sensation for me, because I'm also an ardent American type person. I love this country as well. But England, well, it seems to continue to exhibit a powerful draw on me. I know some of my other flatmates feel this too, but this much? I have no idea. I feel somewhat isolated in my intense longing.

Besides the complete acculturation element, the part I find myself missing most is the excitement of travel. I sort of have these visions as I walk along, where I can see myself walking through the Zurich train station or riding the bus to les Grands Montets, just like I did last year. Or more commonly, riding the Underground. It's a very strange feeling, these intensely real and still tangible memories fleeting past my eyes. Frankly, they're painful. I've realized that I do like excitement. I like cities. I like being able to go to London for the weekend, or New York, or Chicago, or Paris.

But mainly, I think I just miss my other home.

So I don't know what's going on. I'm still here, still plugging along. A long way from England. But if anything from my re-acculturation so far has taught me, it is that I will be returning to the land of hope and glory. How long from now? I don't know. I'm going to go to law school for international law, and we'll see if that can take me back across the dune sea. It used to be a question of maybe. Now it's when.

But for now, I'm still here. And that's okay. It's even better when the Yankees are out of the playoffs. Would be better if the Twins were in, but there's always next year.